The Diviner
by midnighhts
Summary: Shawn Spencer never really liked lying. (That is a lie.) His daemon, more so. But when Carlton Lassiter wants him arrested, and the guy's daemon basically has Alodia's head in its mouth, Shawn does what he can to save himself: he claims to be magic. (It's not even a whole lie, anyway.) [ originally posted onto ao3. daemon/his dark materials au. trying to be shassie but nah. ]
1. Chapter 1

found on ao3: work 5202230. unedited. i have taken a transcript made it into an HDM AU. i do not take any credit for the plot and characters. side note: this is my first time on so aaaaa hello

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 **1986:**

 **Santa Barbara, California, Hispania Nova**

Henry Spencer looks menacing when in uniform. There's always been a tension in his stance that made others stand on guard, too. It was probably from his police training, or maybe from his fascination with stories of the mighty _panserbjørne_ from when he was small - either way, Henry Spencer has never fucked around.

Odessa, his large polar bear dæmon, sits on the vinyl seats next to him. Her size alone sends most people running away in fear, without the need of Henry's intimidating glares. She towers over other dæmons and most humans, a looming parental figure that emulates disappointment and determination at the same time. She's even taller than sight of her is a little jarring, too; Hispania Nova isn't notable for a sizeable _panserbjørne_ or polar bear community.

Henry and Odessa make a terrifying pair.

Shawn Spencer is only partly terrified of both of them (a little more than half, but it's also a little less than half): not because they are hulking and able to snap someone's neck into two, but because it takes only one slip-up for Henry to dish out punishment. Both Henry and Odessa are strict as heck, especially with school work and vegetables.

"Did you do your homework?" Henry asks. His arms are crossed over his chest, which makes him seem even more intimidating and hulking compared to the nine year old's smaller frame.

"Uh-huh," Shawn replies, almost bored and sulking. Alodia, as a newt climbing up the wall next to Shawn, flicks her tongue out.

Odessa gives a warning growl. The other patrons in the diner tense at the low sound. She doesn't look particularly angry, which lessens the effect of her scolding, but there's an unmistakable grace and power under her cuddly, furry exterior.

Shawn appears unfazed by the large bear, but Alodia jumps and falls onto the table with a soft thud. She scrambles back up to her feet, and scampers over to Shawn. In the rush of the moment, she shifts into a bobcat - a new kind of cat Shawn found in sixth grader's Sciences book a few days ago - and nestles into Shawn's side. She gives a small meow.

"Yes, sir," Shawn corrects himself, crisp and clear. He straightens in his chair. Odessa looks a little smug.

"Finish those beets?" Henry asks.

"Yup." Shawn spares a glance at Odessa, but the bear doesn't make him correct his word choice again. Shawn beams, though only under his mostly neutral façade. With his spirits brightened, he glances at the desserts sitting on the platter against the diner's counter. There's a brave light in his eyes as he looks back at his father and asks, "Can I have the fudge cake?"

"Close your eyes," Henry says right after.

Both Shawn and Alodia groan; though, Alodia does a meow of displeasure, which is as close as she comes to recreating her human's groan.

"Dad, I don't want to..." Shawn starts.

Odessa narrows her eyes at them. Henry does the same, a habit born of impatience and order. "Now."

Their gazes meet, Henry's blue eyes unyielding and Shawn's brown ones defiant.

Shawn looks away first. He sighs, bringing his fingers up to his temples. He closes his eyes as Alodia shifts into a small swallow, and perches on his knee. She gives a small chirp; a little nervous, a touch reluctant, but ready nonetheless.

Henry nods at the duo across him, even if Alodia is the only one who would see him. He glances at Odessa. She's looking the entrance of the restaurant, eyeing the people coming and going. The Exit sign hanging atop the door stays lit steadily with a small hum.

"Which letter is out in the exit sign?"

Alodia has the advantage to glance at the door, but she just dips her beak and ruffles her feathers. She closes her eyes.

"X," Shawn says after Alodia's settled. It's an odd semblance to a witch casting magic, with Alodia as a bird and an almost supernatural feeling to the way Shawn finds the answers - though Shawn is male and the last thing you'd expect from a witch. As much as Shawn modelled after his mother, witch attitude just never came as easily.

Henry nods at the brunette. He glances around. "What the colour is the vinyl?"

"What's vinyl?" Shawn scrunches his nose up in thought, brow furrowing. Alodia opens her eyes, peering at Henry and Odessa. She clacks her beak, cocking her head to the side.

"It's the stuff these seats are covered in."

Alodia doesn't even close her eyes when Shawn replies with a quick, "Purple."

"Maroon. Close enough," Henry shrugs. Shawn mouths _Maroon_ to himself.

Odessa stiffens, tensing like a wound up toy ready to spring. Henry glances where Odessa is looking, and frowns. There's a woman outside across the street that looks like a missing suspect from a case from two months ago: brown hair, thin frame and dark clothes. A blue bird dæmon swoops down and perches against her shoulder amidst the commotion of the busy street.

Henry shakes his head, nudging Odessa with his elbow. She's not the woman they're looking for; the suspect had a long, coiling snake as a dæmon, and not a small, plump bird. Odessa relaxes.

Henry nods at Shawn and Alodia, who were both still deep in thought. "Manager's dæmon."

"Who?" Shawn scrunches his face up again. The silence was a little suspicious, but that's Henry for you.

"She's wearing a name tag. The woman standing at the front door when we first walked in. You saw her."

The memory is there, still fresh and a little hazy at edges. When they entered, there was a jukebox by the wall, with a neon sign above it. And then. . . There was a woman in yellow, whose name tag reads MARIE. She was at the counter, scribbling against a clipboard. Clutching onto the sleeve of her yellow dress was a small lizard thing.

Shawn gives a small hum in thought. No, definitely not a lizard. He nods to himself.

"A salamander. Can I have the cake now?" Shawn says, almost exasperated.

Henry smiles, pride reaching his gaze. He leans forward. The proud smile turns into a grin. He casts a tentative glance behind his shoulder, noting the waitress just at the other table. "How many bird daemons?"

Frustrated, Shawn whines, "Come on, dad!"

"Shawn, you want a piece of cake?" Henry asks. The brunet hushes, but his irritation is clear in Alodia's ruffled feathers. "How many birds are in the room?"

Shawn is silent for a moment, thinking. "Do I count Alodia?"

Henry quirks his lips. "What do you think?"

Shawn is quiet again. He bobs his head a few times, almost like he's counting. "Three."

"You didn't describe them," Henry says, leaning back and grinning. Odessa gives a small snort.

Shawn's face turns into a mask of disbelief, though he keeps his eyes shut. Alodia is the one who looks at Henry and glares. Her feathers rise in anger.

"That's not fair!" Shawn gasps.

Henry can't help but let a small chuckle slip through his objective façade. He watches the waitress. It would be a minute or two before she reaches their table - gratuitous amount of time for Shawn to answer. "Time's almost up, Shawn."

Shawn scowls, but says no more. He settles back into the same position as before: fingers at his temple, Alodia perched atop his knee. He points to the door with his left hand. Henry looks where Shawn points, following his son's train of thought with a smile.

"One is a blue-jay. It's on a hat one the ladies are wearing." Shawn points to the back of the restaurant, to the bathroom. "One is a bird that has some kind of weird colour mutation next to the weird guy with the crooked tooth." He brings his hand back to his temple. "The last one is. . .the chef's. It's a rooster, with a funny crown."

Henry nods with a pleased smile. "What about Alodia?"

"Alodia hasn't settled into a bird." At that, the bird shifts into a black Bengal. Alodia opens her eyes, giving a meow-like purr in smug victory.

Henry rolls his eyes. "All right, open your eyes."

Shawn beams, eyes snapping open as soon as the words left his father's mouth. He blinks a few times to adjust to the shift of light, but beams in victory and excitement. Alodia's tail flicks around behind her.

The waitress steps in front of the table from where she stood off to the side. She glances at Odessa with a surprised look for just a moment, but with the grace and tact she's accumulated over the years of working, she turns back to the humans with a perfect smile. Her own dæmon, a beagle with a mostly brown and black coat, trots in between her legs, moving around and avoiding any touch between the patrons.

"Wow," she smiles, "that's amazing."

Shawn smiles back, grinning. Alodia gets up and slinks over to the edge of the table. She's close enough for the waitress to touch her, but not enough to look inappropriate. The woman takes a cursory step back, which provides a better view of her dæmon to the curious nine year old and his quiet cat.

It was a _canis lupus familiaris_ , with a tricolour coat and a politely pleased expression. It stood without much tension, but under the calculating eyes of Alodia, it couldn't help but shift into a straightened stance. It looked straight at Alodia, matching her unyielding stare with a gaze that wouldn't back down.

The waitress watches with a questioning gaze, which was a little affronted yet professionally masked. She gives Henry a look. Henry does a shake of the head-nod, a mix between both that was meant for reassurance.

Odessa makes a warning noise, soft enough that it didn't agitate anyone else, but it carried across the message to Shawn and Alodia. Henry makes a similar sound, though his small, proud smile doesn't change. His look equates into _'He's a kid. Don't mind it. I'm sorry about this._ ' "It's adequate."

The two snap out of their reverie. Shawn's smile fades. Alodia looks away from the beagle. Her tail droops, and so do her ears. She levels her gaze with Odessa, who gives a strong, impassive stare back. The cat dæmon pads over back to Shawn's side.

Henry nods at the waitress. "Get him his cake."

With Alodia sitting next to Shawn and the possibility of accidentally touching the boy's dæmon has subsided, the female steps forward. Her dæmon wags its tail. She doesn't have any further perverse reaction to Shawn's staring, but she couldn't help but be just a little unsteady on how to procceed. She pulls a notebook from the pocket of her apron, and starts to jot down the order. Amidst the scribbling, she added, "I guess I know what you're going to be when you grow up."

Shawn beams, melancholic mood gone. He grins widely, boyishly. "Oh, I'm never gonna grow up, ma'am."


	2. Chapter 2

**PRESENT DAY:**

 **. . . still Santa Barbara**

Whenever Shawn tries to find someone to sleep with - which is almost always - Alodia is there with him. The notion is for Shawn's sake, and because of Shawn's laziness: without a dæmon by his side, no one will treat him normally. He could always fake a mouse dæmon, say the dæmon was shy or something similar - that's why it was always hidden - and no one would question much; but alcohol makes Shawn sloppy, and once the jig was up, he'd have to find another bar or go home alone. It would be too much work for one night.

As punishment for making her become Shawn's wingman (hah, get it?) for the night, Alodia perches on Shawn's shoulder for the most of the evening. She's a constant and alien weight against him, that quickly became uncomfortable after the first hour despite how light she was. Every time the magpie shifted, her black and white feathers brushed against Shawn's neck and ears, earning her a small sound of protest. ("My hair!" Shawn gasped in faux terror the first time.)

The waitress's dæmon was a small butterfly that fluttered close to Alodia in hopes the bird would play around while their humans flirted. It was a West Pygmy Blue, and Shawn hummed in appreciation of the slight colour mutation that made the insect's wings flutter with an iridescent shine. Depsite the dæmon's playful coaxing, Alodia stayed perched, responding with a coy yet interested chirp every time the other dæmon would circle around her and her human.

Shawn played just as hard to get: boyish smile, bedroom eyes and innocent words laden with an innuendo or two. The woman - nametag naming her Eliza - was just as responsive, swaying her hips as she walked away from Shawn's table and winking as she caught him staring.

Thirty minutes later, the two burst through the front door of Shawn's flat. Elisa's moaning into his mouth, kissing him hard while Shawn has his arms wrapped around her. He throws his keys onto the kitchen counter top blindly, and there's a small clink. Their dæmons follow them in, fluttering in paths intertwined.

Elisa turns them both around, and pushes Shawn backward. He stumbles back until he's leaning against the back of the couch in the centre of the room. The heel of his palm presses against the television remote sitting upon the ledge, and the television turns on just a heartbeat after behind him. Shawn turns to peek over his shoulder but Elisa surges forward. She gently captures his bottom lip with her teeth and he's pulled back into the kiss. The news program on the TV turns into white noise.

Elisa trails her hands over his shoulders and chest, breaking the kiss. She bites her lip, glancing up at Shawn with a grin threatening to appear. She takes a few breaths, steadying herself between Shawn's legs. Her hair is wild from the motorcycle helmet, and her skin is flushed. Her cleavage peeks out from the hem of her blouse. "Nice place."

Shawn replies, breathless and grinning back: "Thanks."

They're kissing again. Shawn rests his hands against her hips and steers Elisa to the couch. She complies willingly, and pushes Shawn onto the cushions. The male is surprised, bouncing against the taupe cushions with wide eyes; but seeing Elisa with that hungry look in her eyes, hair spilling out from the messy updo, all his inhibitions (or what's left of it) leave.

Alodia and Elisa's dæmon circle each other in a mimic of their human's actions. Alodia gives a small squawk, while the other flutters about close. The magpie settles upon the other side of the couch. The other dæmon flies close, and they huddle together.

Elisa's eyes are momentarilly drawn to their dæmons, but she turns back to the brunet with a smirk. "I knew you were my best table." She takes her hair tie, and pulls. The movement pulls her shirt up, revealing a little more of what was under her short skirt. Her blonde hair tumbles over her shoulders.

Shawn replies with a bemused grin.

Elisa climbs over Shawn, straddling him. Shawn moans as she kisses him; kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw, the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, along his neck.

Shawn runs his hands over her legs almost abesent mindedly. His attention is torn between the television and the woman on top of him. He can only see glimpses and flashes of the news broadcast as Elisa moves and grinds against his crotch, but it's enough.

On screen, there's a man answering a reporter. His hands are fiddling with his wedding band. His smiles and responses are nervous and strained. He was red in the face. The man's chittering dæmon — a brown stoat ( _Mustela erminea_ ), if Shawn saw the dæmon correctly — that sat on the table right next to the man, was fiddling with a glossy paper. The daemon clawed and chewed on the page.

Beneath him was text. The headline "ROBBERY ON 54th" was bolded, with a red, square background. Beneath that was a continuous stream of words: "Man, murdered. No leads. Police investigating", "Oil prices rising", "Justin Timberlake concert sold out in three hours", "Dæmonappings at an all time high", etcetera.

It was a prerecorded tape, if the sunny backdrop wasn't a clear indicator of the fact.

 _"Joe, do the police have any leads at this time?"_ The reporter asks. She's partially in frame, but the most you see of her is her hand and the mic she has in it.

Joe shrugs, a quick motion of his shoulders that are more like a flash of colour than a visible movement. " _We're at a loss. We really don't know what else to do_." He looks at the reporter, but doesn't keep eye contact. His hands tighten into fists. " _Been a tough few weeks. Basically run out of ideas._ " He exhales.

Beside him, his dæmon chitters. Her voice is unlike the rushed mumble from her human; it's more pleading, but the nervousness is clear all the same. " _Hopefully the police will be able to crack this one for us._ " As she says this, Joe gives a forced, terrified smile.

" _Closing the books on the visions break-ins could be just the olive branch needed to set things in the right direction_."

Elisa keeps kissing him, trying to get his attention. Shawn kisses her back, one hand holding her by the hips where his fingers would leave a faint mark later on. The female gives a delighted sound at the back of her throat, and Shawn kisses her deeper. His other hand points to the side table by the couch.

Alodia peers away from the butterfly to look at her human. She follows where he's pointing: underneath the lamp was a stand for a cordless telephone. She hops down, ignoring the butterfly dæmon. The other, however, follows her with interest.

She lands on the wooden table, talons clacking against the varnished surface. She's too small to carry the phone without further consequences; if she flew at the humans with the heavier object in tow, she could easily touch Elisa by accident. Alodia, instead, hops around the table. She nudges the charger base with her body, pushing it towards the couch. It topples over, sending the phone sliding onto the seat.

"What are you doing?" Elisa's dæmon asks, voice loud enough for Shawn to hear over his moans. The question is directed to Alodia, but the bird does not answer.

Shawn leans over to reach for the sleek telephone. The movement tilts him and the woman atop him both.

Elisa pulls away, cocking her head. Her lipstick is everywhere, and also probably smudged over Shawn's lips too. Her eyes are lidded with lust, but are also filled with a question. She takes the moment to regain her breathing, as does Shawn.

Shawn tilts them back to a more comfortable position. He weighs the phone in his hands as he punches in the numbers with his thumb. "'m calling the police."

A shocked expression flits over Elisa's face, half-confused and a touch angered. She doesn't let that stop her from placing a kiss along his jaw as it settles into something a little guarded. "Any particular reason?" she asks, feigning disinterest. She pulls away far enough to be able to bat her eyelashes and peer through them at Shawn.

"I think I just closed a case." Shawn presses the green call button, just above the digits 1 and 2. He turns to give a small, lopsided smile. The ringing of the telephone is quiet but audible.

"You didn't tell me you're a cop," Elisa says, beaming. She runs her fingers over Shawn's chest and over his shoulders.

"Oh, no, no, no." Shawn's face twists. "Definitely not a cop. Does that disappoint you?"

Elisa chuckles. She bats her eyelashes again, playing coy. She plays with the collar of the brunet's shirt as she mumbles, "I just thought you might have handcuffs." She offers a small shrug.

Shawn grins. "Oh, I have handcuffs-Hello." He brings the phone to his ear as the ringing dial tone turns into a low voice. He half-turns his head away for some semblance of professionalism. The temptation of sex be damned; he has a reputation with the police department to uphold.

Elisa nods. She presses up against him, making an acquiescing hum in the back of her throat. She goes back to trailing kisses at the edge of Shawn's jaw. She places her arms over Shawn's shoulders, wrapping them loosely around his neck. Her dæmon flaps his wings in a semblance of a nod, too, circling Alodia again.

" _Santa Barbara police department_." The officer's voice is clipped yet polite.

"Uh," Shawn starts. He runs his hand over Elisa's legs, and under her short skirt. The woman gives a pleased hum, "it's the store manager. He did it."

The officer doesn't reply for a moment. "Pardon me?" They sound guarded, wary. There's a small click in the background noise over the phone, like a pen.

Shawn holds back a moan as Elisa circles her hips, feeling the starting of an erection bulild under the denim. She smirks against his neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin.

"Uh, the stereo robberies." Shawn shivers in pleasure. His voice waivers a little, and his sentence ends in a sigh. He takes a breath in, trying to sober up. "At the visions chain store. He's on channel 8 news right now."

Elisa giggles, soft and breathlessly. She pulls Shawn's hand away from her leg. His hand is just a little bigger than hers, a little calloused around the edges, but nimble. She places it on her chest. She interlaces her fingers with his, and squeezes her breast for him.

Shawn nearly chokes.

"Uh, his hands. Nervous tic... dead giveaway." He sounds distracted, even to his own ears. Thankfully, he doesn't moan into the receiver when Elisa places a short but wild kiss against his lips. "And he won't look at the reporter in the eyes." He pauses for a moment, turning to Elisa with a playful look of anger, almost admonishing her for kissing him. She giggles. "My name? My name is Shawn... Spencer."

The officer is silent for a second, probably jotting down whatever Shawn had just shared. In the background, another voice rang out, 'We've got a lead.' It was maybe the officer's dæmon. "And is there anything else today?" They didn't seem to notice Shawn's distracted tone - or, if they did, they didn't seem to care.

"No. That's gonna do it," the brunet says. "-Actually, the tags on the news van have expired, but that's completely unrelated."

He drops the call before the officer could get anything else from him. He lets the device drop onto the couch. It slides behind a large cushion.

Elisa kisses him hard, tugging him closer. Shawn gives her an enthusiastic sound from the back of his throat, running both of his hands up her sides.

Alodia soars into the air, wings wide. She's bigger than Elisa's dæmon, an accomplishment in of itself. She puffs her chest put, preening and showing off.

Shawn pulls away, eyes shining with mischief. "Let me show you my handcuffs."


	3. Chapter 3

_so... any yall remember this story lol. i havent updated this story in a while, but i did say i would transfer it from my ao3 so here i am keeping to my promise. hasn't been edited yet, so i'm sorry bout the cringe. cheers_!

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It was a lovely day out. It wasn't too hot, and the sky was a fair shade of blue that greeted Shawn with a warm feeling of accomplishment and last night's great sex. There are still faint red marks from where his handcuffs dug into his wrists, and a prominent love bite against the juncture between his neck and collarbone.

People stare at Shawn as he pulls up to the curb outside of the police station on his Norton motorcycle. The engine roars, then quiets as it dies. Shawn slips off the seat with practised ease. He shakes off the feeling of eyes training his every move. It's not like they were trying to hide their frightened looks, or their pointed whispering; or how one woman took out her phone to call 911, or the CIA, or take a photo, or whatever.

When Shawn reaches up to slip off his helmet, someone takes a sharp and audible gasp. When Shawn gives the parking lot a precursory glance, people scramble out of the way of his gaze.

The daemons of the crowd all shy away, much like how their humans do. There's a parting amongst the crowd for the brunet: a two foot radius of people scurrying away from Shawn as they watch with horrified interest. Shawn doesn't have a daemon with him, and it is terrifying, wrong, a feeling of _no_ _,_ _no_ _,_ _no_ _,no,_ _oh_ _,god_ \- . One child is on the brink of tears, clutching their rapidly shifting daemon close to their body.

Shawn doesn't seem to mind. His constant pull towards Alodia tugs him north-north-east, towards the other end of the police department. Alodia is here, but still out of Shawn's sight. If Shawn had to guess she's already tried to spook some of the unsuspecting officers and civilians by flying around alone, with no sign of her human anywhere and being way too far for a regular daemon to go. (Shawn would've also guessed she's scared _at least_ five people shitless, too.)

Shawn's stroll to the double-door entrance is leisurely, despite the fearful whispering behind his back. He walks with a spring in his step and a blissed out state of euphoria because of his wild night. He tucks his hands into the front pockets of his pants just because he can, and because walking around without a daemon is _totally_ normal.

A man scurries into Shawn's peripheral, appearing first as a blur of colour then as a shifting patch of shapes. The man's daemon, a furry mouse thing hidden behind the collar of her human's button-up shirt, pokes her head out and gives Shawn a wide-eyed look. It was like a usual mouse, but her snout was too small, and her ears were too flat.

The man is pudgy, with a flush to his cheeks from the heat. His clothes are all wrong for any Hispania Nova climate; his sleeves are too long, his polo too thick, and he wears an under-shirt beneath it all. He fidgets often, playing with the cuffs and collar to ease the heat.

"Y-You!" the man starts, shouting. He stumbles for words. His daemon quivers. "You're- You're a monster! An abomination!"

Shawn stops in his tracks. He schools his face into a blank look of indifference, and turns to give the man a waiting stare. It's not the first time he's been called out on not having Alodia by his side. It's pretty tame, the man's reaction.

The man splutters at this; it's not what he expected. There's a terrified look creeping onto the brave façade. The onlookers turn into a crowd.

"What did you do to your daemon?" the man's daemon squeaks, loud enough to be heard by the bystanders. The man glances at his mouse, eyebrows shot up and eyes wide. It's an almost admonishing look.

A soft chorus of "Yeah!"'s come from the crowd, and some cheers, but they sound scared, hesitant.

With a newfound confidence, the man continues, rambling without much thought - like he was trying to say so much, to express everything he couldn't place into simpler words.

If he held onto his daemon tighter than he was a while ago, Shawn didn't say anything. "Your daemon is the very culmination of your soul! She is your partner! You demon! How- How dare you come to the police station? How dare you? You're a menace-!"

Alodia swoops down from the trees, or something. She arrives in a flurry of monochromatic feathers just as the man took a breath between sentences. She beats her wings for a few moments, suspended in the air as she looks at the mousy daemon. Shawn is the one who levels gazes with the shaken man. The crowd quiets into a hush.

Alodia snaps her beak once; the other daemon jumps. She glides to Shawn, and perches on his shoulder. The man lets out a guffaw, while his daemon squeaks. The crowd gasps.

People don't just touch other people's daemons. Other people's daemons don't perch on people's shoulders. Other daemons don't suddenly appear from above, as if summoned. People don't not have their daemons with them, then suddenly have one.

This is a cruel thing to do to these people, but Shawn is nothing but jokes and pranks.

"It can't be-" the man splutters.

Shawn doesn't allow himself a smug look. Instead, he turns to Alodia, offering his hand. The bird, in an uncharacteristically affectionate way, leans into the touch. _It's_ _only for_ _show_ , Shawn reasons. _Alodia's_ _totally_ _going_ _to_ _kill_ _me_ _later_ _._ It's not like Alodia is the most affectionate daemon, even for situations like these.

"Where've ya' been?" Shawn asks, in a mix of a Brytish and Texan accent. "Been lookin' fo' ya'."

Alodia nuzzles into Shawn's hands as a reply. Shawn smiles - grins, more like it- at the action. Alodia's really playing it up for the crowd. He turns to the quivering man and his daemon. They, and the crowd, stare. Some shudder away, fear in their eyes.

The juxtaposition of appearing first to be without a daemon, suddenly getting one, then petting the magpie daemon as if it were natural, is supernatural and taboo. It's wrong, and Shawn preens at the people's reactions. He's a good man, most of the time, but this has always been a game Shawn plays.

Shawn smirks. People coil at the sight. "Later, mate."

He enters the police department without any further incident, though he'll vehemently deny that he was rushing in with the largest, shit-eating grin on his face, and a laugh stuck at the back of his throat - because, oh, God, did you see their faces? Priceless. (Though, later, he'll ponder on how terrible the accent was, and berate himself for not trying to do an impression of Tom Hanks as he played Lee Scoresby in that Once Upon A Time in the North reboot by John Hughes. It wasn't the best movie of the decade, but the story's always a classic.)

Shawn's average looking enough, that if the people outside were to report the incident to the police, there wouldn't be much evidence that would point to him. The people were all too busy holding onto their daemons and not trying to throw up at the feeling of _wrong_ _,_ _wrong_ _,_ _wrong_ _,_ _daemons_ _cannot_ _be_ _that_ _far_ _away_ _from_ _their_ _humans_ to remember much of him anyway.

The Santa Barbara Police Department looks as it did ten years ago. The technology within the decade advanced enough for the old computers and ineffective electric fans to be replaced with newer models. The layout was still the same, though someone finally fixed the wobbly half-wall by the public water cooler.

The nostalgia hits Shawn like a face slap. He's been in the police department many times before, recently, but thinking back on the fading etchings along the chipped yellow paint brings back unwanted memories back to the surface.

It's sickening.

The people inside barely bat an eye at Shawn. Some of the officers' daemons glance up at the sound of Alodia's flapping wings, but they go back to their work. There are a few civilians milling around the room. There is a large, hulking man glaring at everything from where he was chained up by the centre of the room, on a bench next to the staircase. His bird daemon is hopping around next to him. There is a furious woman and a sulking teenage girl sitting by the holding cells. The mother's Shih Tzu stands on edge, while the teen's sulking turtle pressed against the girl's side. There is a similarly red-faced woman sitting two seats down, and a loud, squawking seagull daemon that's not so subtly cursing about someone.

Shawn saunters up to the front desk, that's to the left of the door. There is a glass barrier between him, and the two police officers and their daemons, with a hole in the glass for the ease of speaking, and a semicircle along the surface of the desk for transactions. The department's insignia is plastered upon the transparent surface. Some fliers and notifications, printed onto yellow paper, are taped to the glass. It's a small room that leads out to another part of the police station, a part divided by a door.

One of the of the officers is bent over, rifling through the storage cabinet in the back of the small room. He's turned away from Shawn, and only the mop of unruly black hair is discernible as one of the officer's key features. His uniform looks faded and a size too small. His hawk daemon hops along the top of the metal drawer, letting out a little _caw_ when the officer would stop pause and stop carding through the folders and files, and letting out a flurry of words every so often.

The other is a woman, sitting closer to the front. Her hair is short, and her face twisted into a look of frustrated concentration. She clutches a black telephone receiver to her ear with a determined set in her frown. Her large earrings and numerous bracelets jangle as she moves. Inscribed on some of the bracelets are small glyphs too small to understand but large enough to discern as runes. Her name tag says **ALLEN**. Officer Allen's daemon is a parrot, of red, yellow and blue feathers. He perches on the back of Allen's chair, squawking and jumping in time with his human.

"Hello, officer," Shawn beams. He rests his elbows against the surface of the front desk. He smiles, a boyish, charming thing that could make even the Grinch fall in love with him. He looks so innocent and good, like how a patriotic, All-American citizen should look like.

Above him, Alodia clacks her beak in an admonishing manner. _Yeah right,_ her invisible eye roll translates; and Shawn is offended, because he is a good, All-American citizen, mind you. Alodia circles around in the air a few times, dodging the few other bird daemons - and one actual bird - that were up there, too. She flies down, settling on the counter next to Shawn. Her talons clack against the weathered wood.

The officer doesn't notice Shawn; though if she did, she ignores him. She continues into the phone with an urgent, "But you gotta go." Her daemon follows it with, "It was awesome," and the woman ends it with a non-committal, "Well, yeah," in an almost _Duh!_ tone.

Shawn glances around the office, waiting. Alodia does the same, but she glances around the whole floor instead. First thing noted: exits and entrances; then the people; then possible weapons and defences.

Around the officer and her table are charms and talismans of varying witch clans. They were all fake, without a doubt; though some of the bright crystals and the large necklaces looked authentic enough to pass as the real thing. Some looked to be of Muscovite or Tartaric origin, while a few seemed to come from Nippon or the southern regions of Kamchatka. There was even one that looked like the charm Shawn had at home, the one made by his mother.

Shawn wrinkles his nose, but he doesn't comment. He does a sweep of the rest of the belongings in the office, but nothing is as prominent as the charms. The brunet stores the information for now.

"Hi," he tries again. He rocks onto the balls of his feet, sneaking a glance at the officer's daemon, and studying the serious lines etched between the female's brows.

The officer pointedly doesn't look up. "It was amazing," she mumbles into the phone, instead. Her daemon swivels his head to meet Shawn's charming yet a touch irritated smile and the tensed ruffling of feathers from Alodia.

"I'm Shawn Spencer," he starts, fixing on a less over-the-top smile towards the daemon. Talking directly to the woman's daemon wasn't the most alien thing Shawn's done, but it wasn't the most inconspicuous thing he's done, either. Still, his expression doesn't waiver, and Alodia straightens up to her full height.

Without even looking at them, the officer points behind them, to a bench by another one of the half walls. Her daemon repeats the motion, lifting a colourful wing in the same direction. Allen goes back to the call, nodding with a look of thought and often humming like a sage.

The parrot points to a bench, where a large man and his _Tetrao urogallus_ daemon sit. He takes up most of the space on the wooden seat, while his black and red daemon stands his feet, puffing out her chest to appear bigger. He is that same large man that Shawn first took notice in the police department. He is scowling at everyone, making the words inked in black along his eyebrows smudge and jumble. His hands are cuffed together, and chained to the bench. People avoid him. If a daemon gets close enough, his daemon would clack her beak and shoot out to peck at whatever she can reach.

Shawn barely hides a terrified shudder.

"Oh. . . " He turns back to the officer. "Oh no, no. No, that's not for me. Uh, I'm here for a commendation. I called in a tip."

Allen looks up, glaring at Shawn. Her look is sharp and unmoving, grating right against Shawn's exasperation and impatience. Her daemon does the same, drawing up to full height in a flash. The movement shows off the rich colours of the daemon's chest and feathers.

Alodia draws up in return, but not in a threatening way; it's an instinctual need to straighten up in front of an opponent. Shawn gives a calm but an undeterred look in return. It's much like how many of the fights and argument he and his father's went through when Shawn was a child.

Alodia must have done something that mimicked submission or surrender, because the officer turns back to the phone - though her daemon does not. The parrot daemon keeps watching Shawn with a wary set in his wings. His eyes would dart between Alodia and Shawn, resting more upon the silent daemon.

"Oh, no, Michelle," Officer Allen mumbles back into the receiver as though she's laughing at an inside joke. She doesn't bat an eye at Shawn. "I can't pay for that.

Shawn bristles.

"Here's the thing," Shawn starts. He shifts his weight to the heels of his feet, leaning away from the glass. "These are new pants."

Officer Allen turns. Her smile turns into a frown as she purses her lips. She's still nodding along to whatever Michelle is talking about, but her eyes are set on Shawn. She almost looks livid.

Her daemon points his wing again, just as tense as his human.

Alodia coils to spring. The parrot daemon doesn't miss it.

Shawn doesn't move away, but he does back off. He gives a displeased frown, almost pouting but his brows are furrowed and his eyes are cold.

"Clearly, you feel very strongly about this."

Shawn keeps staring down at the woman and her daemon, lips pursed. Through the glass, the parrot daemon stares back. The daemon doesn't look too long at Shawn; he switches between the other daemon and her human not to seem too perverse.

"Right." Shawn shakes his head. Alodia copies the action, but does a full body shake instead. Her feathers ruffle with the movement. Shawn turns away from the reception desk. Alodia hops onto his arm, and continues to hop upwards to Shawn's shoulder. Neither of the two glance at the officer or her daemon as they leave, but the feeling of the parrot's trained eyes is still there as they go.

Shawn walks over to the bench. The wooden seat is smaller than it seemed when Shawn first noticed it when he walked in. The man sitting on it is taking up half of the whole bench, wherein two people and their daemons could comfortably sit without touching. His daemon, a Western Capercaillie, does not hop too far from her human. It makes goosebumps rise on Shawn's skin.

Shawn sits on the opposite end from the other man without batting a glance at the man. He smiles, as his attention goes back to the loud voice of the police woman, and not to the hulking male next to him. As he sits, Alodia takes off into the air, circling around near Shawn.

"Eighty dollars is a lot for a reading, but she was astounding. I mean,"- Allen pauses, shifting in her chair. Her voice softens to a loud whisper; she talks in a hushed tone, but still loud enough for her to be heard - "she knew about granny's daemon and the curios she left Bobby. . . . I mean, I could literally feel her spirit in the room."

Shawn chuckles to himself. _A witch, reading palms and bones for eighty dollars?_ _Here_ _?_ _In_ _Santa_ _Barbara_ _?_ The chuckles turns into a snort, then into muted laughter. His shoulders shake as he muffles his snickering.

Alodia swoops down. She lands on the ground with a small _clack_ of her talons.

The officer's parrot daemon lets out a squawk. "Be quiet."

Shawn jumps, sobering up almost immediately though he gives one last chuckle before he does so. He turns, and glances to the man beside him. The man turns his head, too.

Inked onto his forehead, right above his eyebrows, is 'BLOODTHIRSTY' in a large, serif font. It's pinched around the D and the T as the man's eyebrows furrow, making it look like it reads 'BLOORNHIRTSY'. Under the man's left eye, there is a tattooed tear drop.

Shawn gives a guffaw. "Get out of here."

The man's face flickers with interest, betraying his cold persona. He doesn't show much more outward change, but his daemon does hop closer. Her talons clack against the tile.

"What?" she gruffs out. She unfurls her wings and rears her head, snapping her beak in the same way a dog would bare its teeth.

"You know," Shawn starts, without any reaction to the overt show of dominance from the other's daemon. He grins like a jackal, "I have the same tattoo."

The man's interest turns into a muted kind of annoyance and anger. He's still curious, though; he hasn't turned away, which is enough for Shawn.

"They spelled _bloodthirsty_ wrong on mine! Can you believe it?" Shawn laughs.

The man lunges at Shawn. His hands don't reach Shawn as he's cuffed and chained to the bench. He struggles against the binds, but it doesn't budge.

At the same time, his daemon jumps into the air and flies at Alodia. Alodia zips out of the way. As the Western Capercaillie advances, the smaller magpie zooms out of the way. The both rise up higher and farther, circling around the room's supporting pillars and swooping above the people's heads. People watch with slight disinterest, though a few daemons watch on.

Just as the bigger daemon seems to have gotten close enough to grab Alodia, she jerks back. Her human stills, and hisses a pained curse through his teeth. The pain written over the man's face isn't just physical; there's that haunted, soul-wrenching look of terror and emptiness - the look of _no no no nononoohgod_. It's too far for the man's soul link.

Alodia keeps flying away.

The Western Capercaillie doesn't chase after Alodia, but she does give a loud squawk. Alodia stops flying, and glances the daemon. A few more curious daemons glance in their direction. A charged moment passes before the man's daemon flies back to her human. Alodia stays in the rafters.

Shawn snorts. He's just a touch shaken - surprised, more like it - but he grins, and it's just a touch too smug. "I cannot believe you didn't test that out first."

The black and red bird swoops down, and perches against her human's leg. With all her ferocity and talons, she huddles close to her human. She hisses at Shawn, but the bird is hard to take seriously while so vulnerable. The man turns away from Shawn, staring ahead. The daemon and her human hold each other close. Shawn has enough decency not to say anything.

The door to the copy room opens. Shawn's attention shifts. An officer holds a door open for her daemon, a bounding goat that bleats as he passes his human. Inside the room, an officer counts to himself as the photocopier next to him hums with electricity. The man steps along with his unheard counting in the recognisable pattern of a waltz. His daemon, a golden retriever, paws his pant leg every time the young officer gets a step wrong.

Shawn's eyes return to the man. His staring does not make the man look back at him, but it does make the man clench his jaw and tighten his fists. Shawn gives the man a once-over - and not a sexual one. That would be gross.

Very gross.

The man is wearing a tee-shirt, a denim vest (a vest? Really?), dark jeans, and boots. His hair is scruffy, and his facial hair is untamed. His tattoos add to the rough, menacing biker look he's got going on. His daemon is big enough to be scary; not as big as an ostrich or a flamingo, but intimidating still.

The man shifts, to shield his daemon from Shawn's stare. He still isn't looking back at Shawn; but maybe it's because Alodia still hasn't returned and the guy's freaking out about it, or something. Who knows? People are always freaked about how far Alodia can go, and it sucks. Still, though understandable, it's not an excuse to be rude.

As the man moves, a few, small, red shards fall from the man's arm. The crystals hide between the folds of his red shirt, blending in unnoticed. Shawn glances at the man's clenched fists, then back at the glass shards.

"What'd you do?" Shawn asks, without preamble. He leans forward, tilting his head. "Bust up your ex-wife's car?"

The man jumps. He turns his head slowly. He stares at Shawn, nodding. He doesn't look less scared than before, but he isn't as hostile, either. "Her new boyfriend's," he says, warily.

Shawn nods back. His face is serious, and it lacks the previous mocking smugness. Of course, it's only for show, and the façade is to placate the man. "That'll teach her."

The man beams, turning his whole body. The fear and the tension eases out of his body as he leans closer to Shawn. The man looked scary even without smiling; now, as the man grins with too much teeth, he looks like a terrifying shark. His daemon gives a squawk, before the man got too close.

"They got no witnesses," the man whispers with pride. He grins, and instead of looking even more like a monster, he looks like a young boy with too much confidence in some poorly schemed plan.

Shawn nods, feigning awe at the story. "Sweet." A pause. Shawn becomes serious again, dropping all traces of his persona. He shrugs, glancing oh so inconspicuously away before someone might think he's helping the guy. "Might want to brush the shards of tail light off your sleeve. Just a tip."

The man glances at his sleeves, and he gives Shawn a grateful look. "Gee, thanks, guy."

Shawn nods with a smile. "Sure."

The man's daemon hops up onto the man's arm. She takes a part of his sleeve between her beak, and shakes off the glass. The man brushes off his other sleeve. Shards fall, and some of the bigger pieces fall into the man's boot.

"Uh-" Shawn starts, but doesn't comment on it. He's already helped enough, and it might even be good to keep the information for later. Shawn does have other stuff to think about, especially since a police officer heads their way, his daemon in tow.

"Mister Spencer?" the officer says, and his voice raises at the end to mimic a question. It's the same one from the copy room. He's tall, and his daemon is big; but both are so childlike that their size is undermined by their personality. The

"Call me Shawn," the brunette grins.

"Please follow me."

Shawn stands, and from somewhere above, Alodia swoops down and lands on his shoulder. Since the officer didn't mention Shawn's lack of daemon, Alodia must've been close by. He offers his hand to her in a show of affectionate companionship, but she only nips at his outstretched hand.

The officer leads the way, and Shawn follows as he should.


End file.
